cowboy clark kent in the wild west who sees what he assumes to be city slicker bruce wayne in his humble town and horrifically underestimates him.
the stranger saunters into the saloon oozing wealth from his downturned hat to the silver spurs on his embroidered boots. he’s quiet, moves smoothly through the crowd while sucking the light with him like a void. conversations around the bar stall, coming to a lull as the patrons watch this newcomer take a stool and order a drink.
clark peers at him from where he’s leaned near the dartboard, chatting with jimmy. the man doesn’t carry any holsters. not on his waist or even beneath his jacket. odd, for a man with that much wealth to be travelling without any means of protection to ward people off.
unless, of course, he came here looking for trouble.
clark pushes off the wall and says his goodbyes to jimmy, bumping through the crowd that has just started to murmur again, though their eyes have not strayed from the broad back sat at the bar. clark slides into the stool next to the stranger, leaning an elbow on the counter and ducking his head to catch the stranger's eye and offer a smile.
"the name's clark kent," he says, his tone even. better to keep things peaceful for now. if clark can redirect this man before any trouble starts, he won't risk revealing himself as a man who isn't a man at all. after no response from the stranger beyond a bored glance, clark presses further. "you got a name, mister?"
the man deliberates for a moment, swirling the whisky in his glass. "...bruce," he finally says, his voice deep and gravelly. "is there a problem, kent?"
"no, not at all." clark shakes his head and drums his fingertips on the counter, careful not to splinter the wood. "just that we haven't seen you around here before, is all. where'd you come from? maybe i can point you in the right direction."
"gotham," bruce answers, his eyes forward, staring at the bottles lined against the wall. "i don't need directions."
clark whistles. "across the bay," he says. "you must be here for a reason. i know this town inside and out. if you'd like, i can tell you where everything is."
bruce turns his chin, just slightly, enough to catch clark's eye and hold it. he doesn't say anything. no flat reply or insult to get clark to back off. just stares at clark, never wavering, his eyes bluer than the sky, piercing and intelligent.
clark does his level best not to get hot in the face. his stomach flips at the attention, and he's not sure if he should back away or lean closer.
bruce makes the decision for him. he downs his whisky in one gulp and sets it on the bar loudly, never breaking eye contact with clark until he slips off his stool and turns away, headed for the door.
clark stares after him for a few precious moments before scrambling upwards, pushing through the saloon doors and searching the dusty street for the man clad in black.
he spots him down the road, leading a large black thoroughbred around the corner. clark takes off after him. "wait!" he calls, skidding to a stop when he rounds the corner and sees bruce looking at him with disdain, his hand looped loosely around a lasso.
clark smiles again, hoping to calm him. even with the heat in his gut, clark can't shake the feeling that bruce is up to something. his short non-answers certainly seem to point in that direction. "i just wanted to ask—what brought you here all the way from gotham?"
bruce only stares, looking clark up and down with a bored expression. he turns away and begins to walk without answering.
clark huffs, starting towards him. the man is obviously hiding something. clark has his strength and his healing;he's the best person to investigate a possible threat—
before clark can even suck in a gasp of surprise, he's flipped clean over bruce's shoulder and onto the dirt. he tries to protest, but bruce grabs his flailing arms and rolls him onto his front. he hogties clark right there in the alleyway, his warm thighs pinning clark's knees together.
clark couldn't help the hot flush crawling up his neck and onto his face if he tried. he squirms against bruce as the dust settles, grunting and breathing hard as bruce puts a hand between his shoulder blades and bears down on him.
"i told you, kent," bruce growls by clark's ear. clark swallows the indecent noise in his throat before it has the chance to escape. "i don't need directions."
